


how the cards can-might-will fall

by Snowsheba



Series: thanks, dad. love, hana [7]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Time Shenanigans, Time Travel, can be read as a stand-alone, if you knew how the future could play out... what would you do to change things?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 14:43:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9389630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowsheba/pseuds/Snowsheba
Summary: Lena Oxton's relationship with time is... unique, to say the least.(or: an exploration of just how much the Slipstream experiment changed Lena's view on life.)





	1. the butterfly effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **themortalscout** asked: if you're still in the mood for teeny requests!: tracer chatting about the things she's seen while she was lost in time(past or future)? maybe to dva or genji?
> 
> (takes place sometime within chapter 52 of thanks, dad. love, hana)

“It’s like when you’re seeing someone, watching something, glancing over because there’s something in the corner of your vision, but - it’s hazy.”

Hana blinks at her. Lena grimaces and makes another attempt.

“Or - or it’s like waking up, except you wake up to the same day, the same hour, the same second with only one thing changed, and the mess is finding out what’s different, but - ” and here she makes a sound of frustration because she can _feel_ the description in her mind, she can mold it and see it and change it, but the words just - “Kind of. It’s hard to explain.”

“Like a dream,” Hana tries. “Like you never know what will happen next.”

 _No_. No, that’s not it. “Not really,” Lena says, watching as Hana’s expression morphs into something more thoughtful. “It was real. It was all real, just not - _real_ real. Like… like sand falling between your fingers.” She seizes on the analogy like a lifeline and says, speaking so fast her tongue threatens to trip over itself, “You can catch it if you want to, but there’s a fascination in watching, and it feels soft and smooth and never-ending - until it does, and then you blink and there’s more sand in your hands, and - and this is a terrible metaphor.”

“Like seeing something on repeat,” Hana says. “And you see it so much you know exactly what to do to change it, but no matter how much you change it, you have to watch it again and again.”

“A little,” Lena admits, even though the words don’t sit quite right with her. They’re not wrong, but they’re not right, either, not what she’s trying to convey. “Like - an hourglass. It flips and flips and flips in different directions. You never know which direction. You never know why or how it flips. You just know that it does, and you just - tumble around and do your best to just watch what happens.”

Hana nods, slowly, brown eyes slightly narrowed in thought. Lena knows that she’s a brilliant, brilliant person, intelligent and strong and competent, but she doesn’t think she’ll ever truly understand this.

“What kinds of things did you see?” she asks instead, clearly having come to the same conclusion as Lena had.

“A lot,” Lena says, pasting a smile on her face. It almost looks real, but she gets the sense that Hana isn’t buying it for a second. “I’ve seen a lot of ways the world might go, depending on what happens in the immediate present. It’s been helpful in that regard - knowing what absolutely must not happen to prevent something else from happening.”

“The butterfly effect,” Hana murmurs, and then, “But how do you know what decisions will affect what?”

“I’ve seen millions of simulations of worlds, played again and again and again, with singular things changed,” Lena reminds her with a smile that’s a little more real. “That doesn’t account for the unforeseen, but there’s a lot of things that happen that - well. That I try to make happen, you know.”

Hana studies her closely. Her brown hair is tied up in a ponytail and she hadn’t bothered covering the bags under her eyes, and after a moment she smiles back and says, “Did you know I would come to Overwatch?”

“Not in the way you did,” Lena says truthfully. “But yes, I did.”

“Wow,” Hana breathes, and Lena chuckles; it’s moments like these almost convince her that this kind of knowledge was worth her plight.

(Almost.)


	2. the heat death of the universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **redcap3** asked: Mini prompt: Tracer, Genji, McCree: War Stories
> 
> (takes place sometime in chapter 62 of thanks, dad. love, hana)

Lena is eleven years younger than both Genji and McCree. Maybe that’s why she still has her smile after all these years, happy and wide and crinkling the corner of her eyes, but Genji doubts it.

They all have their coping mechanisms, after all.

Genji remembers Lena when she first joined - fresh out of military training at bright and bubbly eighteen, confident and poised with the smarts and skills to match. Jesse had taken to her immediately; hard not to, what with all of that light and hope and raw honesty ensconced in a bouncy, enthusiastic shell. A sign that Overwatch, that Blackwatch, hadn’t failed the world after all, Genji had thought to himself, though he’s not certain why Lena had immediately latched onto him and Jesse as her friends, even now. They were older, mostly loners, laughing at morbid jokes and often disappearing for weeks at a time, whereas she was the shining star of Great Britain, face slapped on Overwatch recruitment posters and her catchphrase uttered around the world.

And yet she stayed. And neither he nor Jesse had questioned. 

But then Lena went to fly the Slipstream mission and disappeared, and he didn’t know it at the time, but both he and Jesse mourned her for the year, waiting for the infectious laugh that never came. 

And then she was back, and her smile wasn’t as bright and her laugh not as light and the sight of her was wondrous because she hadn’t changed a bit since the last time Genji had seen her, and yet…

Genji doesn’t sleep much, and he finds that Lena doesn’t either, once she’s settled in. He wanders at night, and he runs into her as she’s in the kitchen, staring down at a mug of tea, face drawn and tired. He slips into the spot across from her and reaches a hand out; with a bite of her lip, she slides her fingers into his and her breathing comes out ragged and shallow.

“Talk to me,” Genji says.

* * *

“Talk to me,” Jesse says, soft and heavy, and Genji leans forward to rest his head on Jesse’s shoulder. He hasn’t cried in at least a year, hasn’t cried since Hanzo’s dragons reached inside and burned him to pieces, and when he screams in frustration into Jesse’s serape, he gets a pat on his shoulder and murmured assurances that _you’re gonna be okay, partner.  
_

He isn’t, not yet, but at least no one can see his red eyes in the morning.

* * *

“Talk to me,” Genji says, and Jesse’s shaking in his chair and Genji reaches up to place his hands on Jesse’s shoulders. These are hidden demons that Genji has seen in the shadow of Jesse’s Deadeye, and there’s nothing he can do but _be_ , quiet and humming and present. 

“You will be okay,” he says to Jesse, and Jesse’s laugh is watery but at least it’s there.

* * *

“I saw everything in the Slipstream,” Lena says to him. Her voice is steady and her eyes are clear and dry. “Everything. Your death, Jesse’s death, mine, the commander’s - everyone’s. Times where you lived, times where no one died, times when the omnics crushed everything and nothing was left.

“I saw emptiness, and I saw fear, and I saw nothingness. I saw the heat death of the universe, or I felt it, or I went somewhere where it was dark and cold and there was nothing left, and then - “ and she takes a sip from her mug and sighs. “Genji, I saw everything, and nothing, and I’m so glad I’m here now but - but what does this mean for me? I’ve seen everything the world can-might-will offer, and yet - “

Still the tears do not fall. She is stronger than that, and it’s with a fierce expression on her face that she closes her eyes and takes in a deep, steadying breath. Genji squeezes her hand and says nothing, turning her words over in his mind. Can he understand, _would_ he understand, if he tried? He’s never given much thought to the idea of time travel, yet here stands its first contender in the flesh; for her sake, if nothing else, he owed it to her to try, and so he studies her and waits, patient and quiet.

“Genji,” she says at last, voice hoarse; “There will be times I do things that don’t seem to make sense, and I need you to trust me when these things happen.”

“What kind of things?”

“Anything. Might be me refusing to let people use the blender. Maybe one day I’ll jump in the way of a bullet, or move out of the way to let one fly.” Her eyes hold his, somehow, through his visor, and the haunted look there reminds him of owls. “And I’ll need you to trust me. Do you understand?”

No, he doesn’t - but some stories are best left untold. He dips his head in a nod, neat and simple, and her laugh is brittle and threatens to break.

“Thank you,” she says, and that is when the tears begin to fall.


End file.
